Sting Like a Bee
by Nova-chan
Summary: Sherlock agrees to fight a boxer in order to get information about a case. John is...impressed.


Warnings: Gay bashing, which is only incidental. Considering the way the story ends up, I hope it is clear that I in no way condone such rude behavior. As an additional note, I do not wish to portray boxers as always acting in such a paltry manner, although some of the ones I've worked with do in fact have very similar outlooks as the two I've written about. With that out of the way, please enjoy! :D

/

John found himself walking into a rundown building in an even more rundown neighborhood in Peckham. Sherlock just strode into the dilapidated concrete hallway as though he were entering their flat. It made no sense to John why they were here; after all the murder had occurred in Camden outside of a pub. But, then, John rarely knew why Sherlock did the things he did, or questioned the people he questioned. Things just seemed to work out for him, somewhat mysteriously. Once everything was over, he'd give some overly simplistic explanation that would make John feel quite thick.

Without precedent, the dim corridor opened up to a spacious, high-ceiling room cluttered with gym equipment. On second thought, it wasn't quite cluttered, so much as it was simply _full. _There were three fully-stocked boxing rings in various states of use and repair. Hanging bags and standing bags were mostly confined to the edges of the room against the walls. Sets of weights, pull-up bars, push-up lifts, and swivels were strewn out almost randomly. A row of treadmills sat lined up against the far wall. Fourteen men, all bulging muscles and sweat, were present, working out, sparring, and teaching.

"Sherlock, what are we doing here?" John asked, his voice lowered. "This seems like a good place to get our heads smashed in for snooping around."

"A source tells me that we can find some useful information about the murder here."

"A source?"

"Homeless network."

Ah, of course. John still didn't understand how that worked. How could the homeless youths that Sherlock relied on possibly find out so many intricate details?

No time to ponder that because Sherlock was walking up to a pair of burly men who looked like they could rip Sherlock's arm off like snapping a twig. John trotted behind him, wishing that he had some kind of weapon, just for added protection. John had done some boxing in the army, but nowhere near professional, and certainly nowhere near this weight class.

"I believe you're Kade?" Sherlock said to the thick, dark-haired gentleman on the left. The man set down his water bottle and glared at Sherlock, sizing him up. It seemed he wasn't about to confess to the identity of "Kade," so Sherlock encouraged him. "You have a line across the side of your forehead where you're recovering from a very difficult match. Looks like it might scar, in fact. You've been slacking on your protein shake diet, probably because you've had less time to stay home and make shakes, and more opportunities to grab fatty foods on the go. You've been running from someone, but not just one person. You are a boxer, after all, and a very powerful one at that. No, you're on the run from a group of people. Someone's out for your blood and you are trying to avoid them. This is not your usual haunt, otherwise you would have realized that they don't provide towels here. You're soaked but your friend isn't, although you've both been working out for the same amount of time. More to the point, you have information that I need."

Kade burst out into a cruel laugh. "Mikey, did you hear that guy?" He groped the wall for support as he descended into harsh laughter. "I thought they were here to sign up as our new mat maids!"

The blond, Mike, snickered. "How cute. Mr. Amateur Detective brings his hubby to work with him."

John flushed, but still felt some relief. At least the two muscle heads weren't pummeling them yet.

Sherlock ignored Mike, and John for that matter, and kept up his conversation with Kade, as if no interruption had occurred. "I need information about the murder of Logan Wright."

John couldn't have blinked in the time it took Kade to shove Sherlock up against the wall. Although the collar of his shirt was being used to choke him, and his feet were no longer touching the floor, Sherlock looked unimpressed. John made to step in, but a single look from Mike delayed him.

Kade was practically spitting in Sherlock's face when he demanded, "Who the fuck are you? Who have you been talking to?"

Sherlock's gaze was made of steel. "I know you didn't kill him."

Kade relaxed his grip slightly, then released Sherlock entirely. Sherlock managed to catch himself, a fragment away from gracefully. He straightened out his collar.

Kade paced away for a moment before rounding on him again. "I've given out concussions to people who said less than you just did," he threatened. "I would do the same to you, but I might accidentally kill you, you skinny little prick, and then I'd have to kill your friend too, as a witness. Then it just gets messier from there, so why don't you save me the trouble and walk out of here before I make you _crawl_ out of here."

John found himself going over to Sherlock and tugging at his arm to get him to leave. Sherlock was steady as a rock, and wasn't budging. "What will the information cost me?" Sherlock asked Kade. "I'm willing to pay you."

Kade laughed at the unintended implication Sherlock had made. "How you gonna pay me? Sucking my dick?"

Mike chimed in smoothly. "Stop staring at our arses, you cock bandit! Don't make us beat the fairy out of you."

"Hey, which one of you is the pillow biter?" chuckled Kade. He looked at John. "I bet it's you, shorty."

Before John could stammer out a long litany of incomprehensible syllables, Sherlock said something stupid. "Let's have a match. If I win, you tell me what I want to know. If you win, I'll pay you ?1000."

John wanted to kill Sherlock himself. But, surely Kade would just laugh at the suggestion. Surely he wouldn't take it seriously…

"You're giving me permission to beat the shit out of you?" Kade asked, wide-eyed for a moment. "And you'll pay me to do it? Kid, you have really made this into a good day for me. I'll be back in five minutes. Give you time to take off your skirt."

Kade and Mike stalked off toward the lockers. John just stared at the back of Sherlock's head, incredulously. When Sherlock turned around to face him and evaluate John's gaping expression, John said, "Let's just leave. We'll wait for Lestrade outside, and Lestrade will bring him in for questioning."

Sherlock scoffed at that, shrugging off his coat. "There is no better way to seal his lips than to bring him in and try to question him. I'm doing this."

"Have you ever even boxed before?" John demanded.

"Irrelevant." Sherlock was peeling away his suit jacket, followed by his shirt.

"No, Sherlock, it's very relevant!" John exclaimed. "That man, that walking _muscle_ has no compunctions against killing you, or at least breaking your neck! I really don't want to see that happen."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should leave." He was down to his pants and shoes now.

John glared at him. "I'm going to have an ambulance on standby, just so you know." He took out his phone to further the threat.

Sherlock shrugged. Kade was returning. And laughing quite hysterically when he saw Sherlock's naked torso. "Oh, god, are you serious? This isn't even going to be fun for me!" He smirked. "Well, it'll be a little fun."

Sherlock practically yawned. "Don't forget our agreement."

Kade snorted. "I hope your friend can sign your check for you."

John listened to the exchange with growing apprehension. He was with Kade on one thing. Was Sherlock serious?

Kade walked up to the center ring. "Clear out, boys, I'm going to merk up my new friend Nancy here, and she's going to pay me to do it."

Two sets of eyes went to size up Sherlock. The two boxers occupying the ring smirked and slid out under the ropes. Sherlock and Kade slipped into the ring silently. John silently cursed himself for not using the five minutes they'd had to at least show Sherlock a proper boxing stance, or the 1-2 punch.

"Three rounds, three minutes each is how we do it," Kade said smugly. "Are you ready?"

Sherlock rolled the kinks out of his neck. "I'm ready."

Mike flipped the bell switch, and three seconds later it signaled the start of the first round. John watched with dread as Kade put his meaty fists to his face and threw his right leg back in a perfect, powerful boxing stance. And Sherlock…Sherlock had his feet positioned is such a way that Kade could have pushed him over with his index finger. Sherlock put up his fists in a likeness to Kade's, as if trying to copy the boxer's position.

Then everything went to hell.

Kade advanced on Sherlock and Sherlock retreated back instinctively, but managed to keep his front side toward the goliath boxer. Suddenly, Sherlock was backed into a corner and Kade was ardently striking him in the face. John gripped the rope on the side of the ring, fearing for his friend's life as he took hit after hit in quick succession.

Sherlock managed to duck out of the way and backed up toward the middle of the ring. Kade followed him, staying in proper form, while Sherlock was practically tripping over his own long legs. He did manage to avoid Kade for a good chunk of time by darting out of the heavier man's range. Sherlock's swiftness was certainly an advantage.

Unfortunately, Kade soon took notice of Sherlock's pattern and managed to land a hit to the detective's left ribs. Sherlock stumbled for a moment, but then righted himself. He now favored his left side when retreating. Kade was caught of guard when Sherlock suddenly landed a blow to his right cheek. John could tell from the look on the boxer's face that the punch was no more than a light breeze to him. Kade retaliated by knocking Sherlock onto his side with a powerful punch to the right ear. Sherlock regrettably toppled over onto his left side.

John had never been happier to hear a buzzer in his life. Sherlock staggered to the corner where John was waiting. John snatched up a bottle of water from a side table and handed it over to his wheezing friend. "Ok, you've had your fun. He's had his fun. Just give him the money and let's go before he kills you."

Sherlock drank the water quickly. "No, no," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to feel him out…"

"You probably have broken ribs!" John snapped.

"You can inspect them later. Adrenaline's taking care of it for now," Sherlock quipped.

John glared over at Kade, who was leaning against the padded corner opposite them. He smirked back at John and gave a mockingly effeminate wave. John swallowed and tried to make the stubborn detective stop this madness. "Sherlock, you don't have to do this. Getting information out of this one guy-who you already mentioned is Inot/I the murderer-won't do us enough good to justify you getting hurt like this. Please, let's go and wait for Lestrade…"

Sherlock gave him a pert little wink as the buzzer signaled the start of the second round. John watched as Sherlock walked over to the center of the ring once more. He tried looking elsewhere, tried tuning out the sounds of Sherlock's gaps and grunts, and the sound of flesh pounding flesh.

To John's relief, he spotted Lestrade walking in. "Lestrade, you've got to talk some sense into Sherlock. He's going to be nothing but pulp and mash by the time this is over!"

Lestrade quirked a brow. "What? Start at the beginning."

"Look!" John indicated the ring. "Sherlock is fighting that giant because he wants to get information, because he thinks he can win the match, because he's _insane_!"

"Hmm," Lestrade mused. His expression was distinctly _pleased_ for a moment before it went back to exerted vacancy. "I will, uh, make some inquiries…but don't get your hopes up for him to give up. You know how bolshy he is."

John could only stare blankly at Lestrade as he walked off to "make inquiries" amongst the small crowd that had gathered to watch the fight. Or to watch Sherlock being thrashed, as the event was. John went back to the side of the ring to observe how bad off Sherlock had become. He was bleeding from the nose, was probably going to have a shiner, still favoring his left side, but otherwise no worse than he had been at the beginning of the round.

Kade was taunting his victim now, having realized that Sherlock was not going to be proper competition. "How about this, Curly-locks…you get on your knees and beg to suck my cock, and I'll take your money and we won't go through with the third round."

Sherlock, though staggering somewhat, was unfazed by the crude words of his opponent.

Kade laughed. "I thought you'd like that, you little rope sucker. But I sure don't mind just killing you."

John's eyes flitted over to Lestrade. Surely the inspector had heard that! But Lestrade was appearing to be exchanging slips of paper with a rough-looking man sitting at a small table.

Kade got in three more hits to Sherlock's torso before the buzzer went off again. Sherlock leaned against the pillowy support in his designated corner. John rushed over to offer him more water, which Sherlock took gratefully.

"Okay, Sherlock, as fun as this is, I think it's time to quit. It think he's actually going to kill you if you keep this up," John warned. "Lestrade is here-I don't know what he's doing, but he's here-and you and I need to go have an encounter with some medical supplies.

Sherlock let some of the blood from his nose drip neatly into the now empty water bottle. John offered him his handkerchief-his _only_ handkerchief-and Sherlock used it to stop the bleeding. "Only one round left," he said carefully. "What could possibly happen in three minutes?"

"Does the phrase 'Famous last words' mean anything to you at all?" John demanded.

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't really enjoy colloquialisms, John."

Before John could think of a response to convince Sherlock to leave, the bloody bell rang again. John watched in fascination as Sherlock half-crouched and moved his right leg back at a perfect 45 degrees from his left. His fists came up to block his face, no longer in a farce mimicking Kade, but in a professional, tight formation. Kade didn't appear to notice the change. The heavy boxer charged his opponent recklessly, looking as though he was about to dole out a death blow. Sherlock ducked gracefully and his fist connected with Kade's unprotected side.

Kade lurched a few feet away, stunned by Sherlock's quick movements, and the incredible _power_ behind that singular hit. Before he could regain his senses, Sherlock was laying into him, backing Kade into the corner of the ring this time. Kade snarled and swung his fist out at Sherlock's face, merely grazing his temple as Sherlock darted out of the way too quickly for any damaging contact to be made.

John watched in awe at the change that had come over his flat mate. Sherlock had gone from a greenhorn to an expert in under a minute. That's when John realized that Sherlock had been trying to make himself look bad, probably to catch the oversized fighter off guard. John felt like swooning when he watched Sherlock's unrestrained power wailing on Kade. John had known Sherlock was fast, had known that he was crafty. But he'd had no clue that the detective was so impossibly _strong._

Gradually, the fists flying at Kade's bewildered face came faster and faster until, with a beautiful right hook, Sherlock knocked him out flat.

John lost himself in his thoughts of what he wanted to do to Sherlock-what he wanted Sherlock to do to him-so much so that the next stretch of time came in sort of a blur. Lestrade enthusiastically collected his winnings from the substantial bet he'd made. The odds had been astronomical and Lestrade had really cleaned up. Sherlock waited patiently for Kade to rouse, then asked him point-blank to disclose all the information he had.

Kade had moaned pathetically and asked for a medic. Sherlock promised to call him one as soon as the larger man divulged the information he knew about the case. It turned out that, as Sherlock had suspected, someone had tried to hire Kade to murder Logan Wright. Kade had been known in the past as a hired tough, but had never gone as far as to actually kill someone, outside of a boxing match, that is. When he had refused to take the job, his prospective employer had grown nervous and sought to have him killed as well. So Kade had gone into hiding, staying on the run to avoid the men trying to silence him. He was positive that he could identify the men involved in the murder, and Sherlock handed him over to Lestrade.

/

When they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock was content to start looking through his website for his next case. John insisted that he stop for a few minutes to be inspected medically.

Sherlock long-sufferingly allowed John to sit him down in the kitchen and look him over. John washed away the bloody marks on his friend's face and determined that he wouldn't need his ribs taped after all. As he was applying a small bandage to a cut on Sherlock's neck, he remarked, "Why didn't you ever tell me that you boxed?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't believe you ever asked."

"You had me really worried there for a minute," John complained. He flushed slightly. "But, seeing you switch on like you did…that was just incredible."

Sherlock noticed the color on John's cheeks. He couldn't help but torture the man a little. "Yes, I am quite a bit stronger than I look. Usually people significantly underestimate me. I try to use it to my advantage.'

John's heart was pounding in his throat. He inspected Sherlock's right bicep, which had a red welt running down it. The muscle suddenly flexed beneath his hands and John almost gasped.

"Can you…" John began, swallowing thickly. "Can you show me how you subdue your opponents like that?"

Sherlock's smile widened. "It would be my pleasure, John."


End file.
